


The Art of Teaching Nobody's Grasshopper

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Action/Adventure, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Quickening, Romantic Friendship, Seacouver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a big (really big), bad Immortal in town who is out for the blood of teaching Immortals.  He's a bit confused, though.  He thinks Methos is his nephew.  </p>
<p>Between Methos getting kidnapped, and a whole gaggle of newbie Immortal students who have lost their teachers, MacLeod and Joe have their hands full.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Teaching Nobody's Grasshopper

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings only for some bad language and the same level of violence as you'd find in the tv show. 
> 
> The level of slash is all about the feelings, and a nice kiss.

Right now, MacLeod was getting his drunk on.

Methos peered at MacLeod sideways. He was well into his cups, and although his stamina regarding alcohol was well established, Methos still worried about his propensity to drink himself into a maudlin state.

Joe was leaning on the bar in front of them, watching with a guarded, concerned look. “Why don’t you go home, Mac?” he asked. “It’s after midnight.”

MacLeod ignored the suggestion. He wagged his head sorrowfully. “Poor Michael,” he said. “Poor Nolan. Honest men, both of them. Curse this life we live.”

“It’s the Game,” Methos said, just as he had said over an hour ago. Having this same conversation over and over again was getting tiresome. Two of MacLeod’s friends had been challenged and killed just in the past week, and their sudden absence had worn at MacLeod. “It is what it is. There’s no sense to it.”

“They were both good men,” Macleod insisted, as if that had anything to do with whether or not they should have been targeted in the first place.

“They were Immortal,” Methos said and looked to Joe. Joe’s eyebrows arched up in a silent communication of ‘we’ve tried everything to get him home, the bastard is too stubborn for his own good’.

“Go home, Mac. Bar’s closed to you,” Joe said, an edge to his voice that finally caught MacLeod’s attention. “Sleep it off.”

MacLeod heaved a sigh as heavy as the sorrows on his shoulders and nodded. “You’re right.”

He finally moved himself off the bar stool, and in his moving, Methos could gauge that he wasn’t nearly half as drunk as he’d thought. Immortal healing to the rescue. At least Methos wouldn’t have to worry about him getting home safely.

MacLeod fixed Methos with a steely look. “Nolan had a student. We’ll need to find him.”

Methos nodded. He had no intention of taking on someone else’s student. Macleod could do as he pleased about that, but right now was not the time to start an argument about it. With any luck, the student would be ready to fledge anyway, and it would be no trouble at all.

Joe waited until MacLeod was out the door before coming around to the other side of the bar and sitting down with a groan. “I worry about him,” he said. “He takes everything deep to his heart.”

“Wouldn’t be Duncan MacLeod unless he did,” Methos muttered, and Joe snorted in agreement.

“What I’m concerned about is that there were two challenges in a single week here in Seacouver.”

“And one two weeks ago, and one a week before that,” Joe added. He looked thoughtful. “You gonna cut and run?”

“Not yet,” Methos said. He’d thought about it, but that would leave MacLeod here alone, and that was an impossible choice. He wished he could convince MacLeod to vacate the city with him, but the probability of that was nearly reaching zero. He wanted his own head safely attached, so he was definitely keeping an eye on the situation. “The Watchers don’t know if it is a single Immortal, or just coincidence?” 

Joe shook his head. “No. We’re pretty low on field operatives right now. Don’t have enough people to go around. And the Immortals challenged have been the sedentary types. They’d put down roots, weren’t traveling. We don’t spend a lot of operative capital on Immortals who work a forty-hour week and come home to quiet hobbies on the weekends.”

Methos rubbed his face with his hand. He was quite tired. Playing sympathetic ear to MacLeod’s morose grieving had taken a toll on him this week, and he was ready for a long night, preferably dreamless. “I’m going to head home, too.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Joe said as he went back around behind the bar. He still had another hour before closing up for the night.

“Night.” Methos turned up his collar and headed for the back door. Leaving the bar, he felt the solitude surround him like a cool blanket, and he found he was actually looking forward to some quiet time to relax, catch up on some much needed sleep. 

The night air was cold and damp with the promise of spring and Methos huddled into his coat even more. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim outside light. He’d parked two blocks over since the bar’s parking lot had been full up that evening. 

At the edge of the parking lot, just as he was about to enter the little alley that would bring him over to the next block, a dark hulking figure emerged. Methos’ head buzzed with the Immortal’s approach. His sword already brandished, it gleamed in the scant streetlights.

Methos barely had time to get his own sword out before the man attacked. The force of the attack threw Methos aside and he almost didn’t get his sword up again in time for the next swipe, which rattled his teeth in his head.

With a roar of fury, his attacked rushed him, charging into him bodily, and Methos took the impact nearly full-on. He had moved sideways just enough that he was shoved at an angle into the brickwork of the building that made up the alley entrance. Dazed, Methos slid down the wall into a limp tangle.

The man’s face was in shadow, but his teeth were bright against the dark and Methos couldn’t help but stare at them. This was how it would end for him. He would be killed by a monster of a man with teeth that could be in a toothpaste commercial.

~~~ 

“Police! Stop right there!”

The Immortal paused at the shout, and Methos managed to roll himself sideways just enough that he covered his fallen sword. One moment he was on his way home to a soft bed in his apartment and the next he was worried about an Immortal attacking him and a police officer noticing that he carried a shiny, sharp, deadly weapon around. Methos felt like fate had slammed him just as hard as the challenging Immortal had. 

The monster-Immortal’s teeth gleamed into a wicked, curving smile, and he shifted position to hide himself even more into the alley shadows. “Next time,” the man-creature grated out, and he vanished into the alley the way he had come.

The police officer paused at the entrance to the valley, momentarily torn between the decision to follow and apprehend the perpetrator, and the need to stop and tend to a wounded man. Methos gazed up at his savior, wondering at how the grungy streetlights seemed to make a halo-effect around the man’s head. 

The officer nodded to himself, apparently satisfied that the aggressor had run into the night, and knelt to see how Methos was. “Are you alright? What happened? Can you speak?”

Methos could see the name plate on the man’s shirt. Talmadge. Officer Talmadge. He rolled his head around, and tried to find his voice.

What lie to tell? How could he thank the man who’d saved his scrawny neck, and get him to leave well enough alone? The other Immortal hadn’t seemed to want mortal blood on his hands—this time at least—and Methos didn’t want to tempt fate a second time. Plus, if Methos moved, the officer would see his sword. That wouldn’t end well at all. But the lies were swirling in his head, and nothing seemed to make any sense to him. 

The decision was taken out of his hands before he could decide.

Someone stun gunned the heroic officer.

Fuck, Methos thought. Could the alley get any more crowded? His head was growing clearer and he was able to control his hands enough to find his sword and grab the hilt. At least now he had a fighting change.

A young man with an Immortal signature appeared before him. “Come on. We have to get out of here before the cop gets up. Or that other guy comes back.” He grabbed Methos by the wrist and helped haul him to his feet. “Can you walk?”

Getting out of there was the best idea by far, so Methos just put one foot in front of the other, and he walked into the shadows with his new companion.

Methos’ head was throbbing from the whack he’d received, and it wasn’t hard to determine that he’d probably gotten a concussion. Even with Immortal healing, it meant that he would be unsteady for a while, his balance would be untrustworthy, as well as his decision making. Was that why he’d decided to follow an unknown kid into the dark?

Five minutes into their journey, and it suddenly dawned on Methos that he should have just gone back into the bar. Joe would have helped him, and he was a trusted person.

Methos slowed down, realizing that the kid still had his hand around Methos’ wrist.

“Come on,” the young man said, he looked around with caution and undisguised fear. “We’re not safe yet.”

“Where are we going?” Methos asked. “Who are you?”

“I’m Marty. I’m bringing you somewhere safe. It’s only around the corner.” Marty tugged at Methos’ wrist and Methos let himself be guided to the building on the corner, and down to the door that led into the basement apartment. “Here we are,” Marty whispered, and brought a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

After they were inside, Marty locked the door behind him. “We only use keys. We don’t let each other in. Because we can’t tell each other just by feel.”

Methos was still trying to piece together what he was being told, so he just made a noncommittal noise of compliance.

Two other Immortals were in the room and they were on their feet as they entered the main room after the entry hallway, but neither had a weapon. One was a slim girl who looked about twenty, with sleek, shiny dark hair and a flawless complexion. The other was a slightly older man, somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties, tall and lanky, with a shock of brown hair.

“What happened?” asked the girl. “You’re bleeding!” She came forward with a look of concern on her face as she touched Methos’ forehead. “Adam, are you okay?”

Methos stepped back. “You know me?” He didn’t recognize any of these strange Immortals.

The girl smiled shyly, but her eyes were still on Methos’ head. She had to be a very new Immortal if she was still worried about a little blood. “I know of you,” she said. “I’m Louisa. It’s nice to finally meet you. Here, you should sit down.” She glanced to Marty. “What happened?”

Methos leaned against the wall. He wanted to sit down, but didn’t trust that he could protect himself in time if he needed to. He noted that Marty looked like the youngest of the three, that dressed right he might pass for twenty, but—like Riche Ryan—would be stuck permanently at the tail-end of his teenager years. His short height didn’t help dispel the image.

“His teacher left him alone at the bar—“

At Marty’s words, twin expressions of horror dawned on Louisa’s and John’s faces.

“—and as he left the bar, he was attacked.” Marty made a face. “A police officer actually stopped the whole thing, but I had to taser him.” He looked regretful. “And we came here.”

“Left him! Left him!” Louisa exclaimed. “Oh, Adam!” She clutched at his hands. “You should stay here with us.”

Marty nodded. “I agree. It isn’t safe alone.” He looked across the room. “John?”

“He should stay,” John agreed.

Methos shook his hands gently out of Louisa’s. “I think you have the wrong idea. I don’t have a teacher--”

Louisa gasped and grew quite red, a set angry look to her jaw. “The bastard,” she hissed.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself,” Methos said, forging ahead. “But I do want to know how you three came to be here. And who that Immortal was that attacked me.”

Louisa didn’t seem inclined to change the subject. “But we saw you. Sparring, I mean. You lost, again and again.”

“Saw me?” Methos asked. “How could you see me?”

Marty smiled grimly. “It’s a long story, but we’ve been keeping an eye on other Immortals in the area. Young ones, like yourself.”

Methos managed to hold his tongue, but barely.

Marty continued, “We saw you in the dojo, sparring. Just last weekend. Your teacher is very good. He beat you every time. But you looked like you were learning and doing well,” he said, his voice very kind.

Methos frowned, and thought back to last weekend. He and MacLeod had been sparring. There were a variety of styles and techniques that MacLeod knew that Methos had only the barest understanding about, and MacLeod had been teaching him about the complexities. He supposed that from an outsider’s view that he must have looked quite amateur at wielding a sword.

“Look, you did see MacLeod teaching me, but he’s not my teacher. I’m on my own, really.” Methos paused to gauge their reactions.

Marty asked, “MacLeod? That’s his name?”

“Duncan MacLeod,” Methos said. “You’ve heard of him?”

John spoke up. “A little. My teacher mentioned him once or twice. A friend, he said.”

Louisa looked defiant and grim. “This MacLeod doesn’t sound like a great friend. He left you alone at the bar.”

Methos decided to abandon the topic. “Tell me what you know about the Immortal who attacked me.”

Marty sighed and flopped into a near-by chair. “Not hardly enough. We don’t know his name, or where he comes from. He likes to go after teacher-student pairs, although once he kills the teacher he doesn’t seem as inclined to go after the student.”

“We’re not as interesting,” John snarled from the corner where he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Louisa bit her lip and looked at Methos. “John lost his teacher a few weeks ago.”

Methos looked at the three young Immortals. “Are you all without teachers?”

“Except for Sam, yeah,” Marty said. He cast his eyes down.

“Sam?”

“You’ll meet him later. He’s out watching.” Louisa came to stand close to Methos. “There was another loss this week. He’s trying to find the student. We think his name is Dove. Or at least his nickname.”

Methos mulled that over for a long moment. “Have any students actually been killed?” he asked.

Louisa shrugged. Marty looked thoughtful.

“No,” John said bitterly. “Just teachers. He likes to scare us good, though.”

“Like he did to you tonight,” Marty said. “He could have killed you, but he didn’t.”

Methos has his doubts about that. From where he had stood, he’d protected himself just well enough not to get killed up until the point where the policeman had interfered. He’d bet money the Immortal had run off rather than risk a Quickening while vulnerable to the officer.

The Immortal had attacked with brute strength and basic skill, but very little finesse. Of course, the brute strength had been quite enough. Methos hoped not to have to try again against the man.

But had the Immortal attacked him to frighten him, believing him to be a student? Or had he attacked him because he knew Methos was old? Old enough to be MacLeod’s teacher. Which was he in that Immortals eyes? Student or teacher? And did that mean he was out there, hunting down MacLeod? A sliver of ice formed in Methos gut at the thought. 

Louisa looked like she was about to cry. “All our teachers gone.” She sniffled. “And now he’s after yours,” she told Methos. She looked to Marty and John. “We’ve got to do something. Help him.”

“How?” Marty threw up his hands. “The best thing we can do is stay away from our teachers in the first place!” He looked disgusted. “Even our teachers, old trained Immortals all of them, couldn’t defeat this guy. We don’t stand a chance.”

“So we hide down in this little rat hole forever?” Louisa asked. “While he hunts down Adam’s teacher?”

“I told you, he’s not--” Methos started to say, but then all three of them were talking over each other, arguing, and no one was listening to him. Methos slid down the wall where he’d been leaning. He checked his watch. It was well past two in the morning. He had a head full of beer that was still mostly concussed, was exhausted from consoling MacLeod, and now fighting and running. He was pretty sure these kids weren’t going to harm him, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He was also sure that he’d spent many more hours in his past without sleep, but right now, he needed just a few minutes. Deadly Immortals would keep at least until dawn.

~~~

When he woke up, Methos saw that daylight was streaming in through dirty, small windows set near the ceiling. Louisa, Marty, and John were all sacked out on different make-shift pallets.

Methos slowly stretched his hands, feet, legs, and arms. He felt much better. Someone had covered him with a ragged quilt, too. Nice kids. Too bad the situation was as lousy as it was.

His stirring awakened the others, and within minutes, the three kids had started to prepare breakfast.

“We can make oatmeal,” Louisa said. “We’ve got a hot pot.”

“I’ve certainly eaten worse fare,” Methos told her with a smile. Now that his head was no longer throbbing from being nearly beaten to death against a brick wall, he was starting to think hard about the situation and their options. Methos patted a hand against his sword, which he’d tucked away into his coat last night, and realized he hadn’t seen any other weapons yet. “Does anyone here have a sword?”

Marty made a face. “We all do. The problem is that we’re just as likely to hurt ourselves swinging them around as to hurt an opponent.”

“How young are you exactly?” he asked.

Louisa slid a glance at him. “How young are you?”

“I’m old enough. Trust me.”

“Sure you are,” John said from across the room where he was pulling out bowls and spoons.

Methos took a deep breath and let it pass. He was not about to start arguing with these kids about how old he was. “How long were you with your teachers, then?”

“Almost two years,” Marty said. “I’m competent enough with a blade.”

“Six months,” Louisa said.

“Twelve weeks, three days,” John said.

Methos groaned. Babies. These kids weren’t just young. They were like Immortal infants. Now he had to bring them to MacLeod. Otherwise the ridiculous man would kill him just for not saving each and every one of them.

“How long have you been learning under MacLeod?” Marty asked. The oatmeal looked done and he was dolloping it out into the bowls.

“He’s not my teacher. He’s just a friend.”

John leaned forward, his eyes glittering darkly. “My teacher said MacLeod doesn’t take on new students anymore. That something happened. Something bad. But he wouldn’t say what.”

Methos slowly chewed his oatmeal, considering his answer. “Something did happen, but it isn’t entirely what the rumors might say. But you’re right, he hasn’t taken a student since.”

“You aren’t going to tell us?” Marty asked, and in his tone Methos could hear the hurt about not being brought in to confidences when ‘Adam’ had already been brought into theirs.

“Maybe some other time. But right now it isn’t my story to tell. You can ask MacLeod about it. He’ll tell you the truth, if you want to hear it.” Methos could tell that the three of them were practically salivating to hear exactly what the big, dark secret was, and Methos wasn’t in the mood to bring up the tragic past, so he shifted the subject slightly. “In any case, I know for a fact that he’d be willing to help all of you. We just have to talk with him.” Methos felt around in his pockets for his cell phone, but it was missing. “Does any one have my cell phone?”

“No,” Marty said. “I think it might have dropped last night. I thought I heard something break on the pavement, but I didn’t know what it was. In the fight, I mean.”

“I can get another one,” Methos said. That was the third cell phone he’d broken this year. Flimsy things just didn’t stand up to an Immortal’s lifestyle.

Suddenly the sense of Immortal presence came upon them. The three kids turned their heads to the door and Methos reached his hand into his coat. The sound of a key in the lock was heard and a swoosh of relief escaped everyone’s lips.

A young man with copper-red hair came in the room, and stopped at the sight of Methos. “Thank god, you found him,” he said and held out a hand. “Sam Eatherpint. Pleased to meet you.”

Methos shook the hand. “Adam Pierson. It seems you already know me.”

Sam grinned. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since we figured out what was going on in this town.”

“You mean the large Immortal who goes around killing teachers?”

“That’s right.” Sam sobered fast. He looked over his small group. “Three teachers, and three teacherless students.”

“They told me your teacher is still alive?” Methos had tried to figure out who the teacher could have been, based on the Watcher database as he’d last looked at it, but nothing had come to mind.

“Anastasia Crewe.” He tossed the name out.

Methos shook his head. He didn’t know the name. “Where is she? Is she safe?”

“She’s on retreat at the moment, on holy ground. Things were a lot quieter when she left to go there.”

“You must be nearly ready to be on your own if she left you,” Methos observed.

“I’m not half bad. We’ve been together for almost five years.”

“Enough to spend some time on your own, then,” Methos mused.

“But not enough to face down this monster who has been culling through our elders,” Sam said grimly. “And speaking of elders, your keepers are getting frantic about you.”

“My keepers?” Methos asked, bemused.

“Your teacher and your friend the barman. They found your car. They’re starting to think the worst.”

“You keep pretty good tabs on everyone, don’t you?” Methos asked, tilting his head to study the young man. His bright red hair was so eye-catching that it was hard to study his face. He had a stocky build, which would have filled in with heftier muscle if he’d been allowed a few more years to grow. As it was, he appeared to be somewhere in his early twenties, with a plain, open face, and dark brown eyes that could snap between emotions in an instant.

“I’ve been trying to. Ever since Marty’s teacher was lost. I’m getting tired of skulking around in the shadows, though, so I’d love to hear any solutions you’d care to offer.”

“I don’t have any solutions. Yet,” Methos said. “But I think we should go and talk to MacLeod. He’ll want to hear about this. Between the two of us, and all of you, I’m sure we’ll figure out a plan. And even if we can’t, we’ve got hot showers and pantries full of food.”

“You think your teacher’s that good, huh?”

“He’s not my--”

John interrupted, “He insists he’s on his own and MacLeod isn’t teaching him.”

That brought laughter all around and Methos grinned. No matter what he said, that one sparring session where he got beat up was going to win the day on this topic. “Fine, fine. Sometimes he’s my teacher. Sometimes I teach him a thing or two.”

Louisa gave a little sniffle, and then another. “I used to help my teacher with computers. And the internet. God, he was such a dope when it came to technology.” She covered her face with her hands and silently cried. Marty reached over and rubbed her back.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Sam took up the conversation again. “Anyway, you should call them so they stop freaking out.”

“I need a phone,” Methos said. “My cell phone broke in the fight last night.”

“Fight! What fight?” Sam looked around. “I was so glad to see you here, I forgot to ask how you got here.”

“It was him. The Immortal,” Marty said. “I was scouting around the bar, in that area--” he tossed a glance to Methos “—keeping an eye on Adam and his teacher, like you asked. And he jumped Adam outside the bar.” Marty continued on to tell the rest of the story and Sam’s expression grew more serious by the moment.

“So he’s taken to preying on students now,” Sam mused. “He didn’t used to. He’d frighten us good, whack us on the bottom, so to speak, and send us on our way. But it sounds like he really wanted Adam’s head.”

Methos pressed his lips together. It did sound as if he was the teacher and MacLeod the student. That at least solved the riddle of how MacLeod had gotten home safely last night. Until Sam had mentioned him this morning, there had been a substantial nugget of fear lodged in Methos’ gut. The Immortal had been waiting for whom he perceived to be the teacher, after all. And if not teacher, then Methos certainly qualified as elder.

“There’s a pay phone at the corner store,” Louisa said helpfully. “We’ve all run out of battery charge and service plans on our phones.” She made a face. “Living on the run doesn’t exactly make it easy to keep a good credit score.”

“Come on, I’ll go with you,” Sam offered, patting his side where a hidden blade would rest. “If the Immortal shows up, we’ll run first, and fight if we get cornered. But at least it’ll be two against one.”

Methos had no desire to point out that the rules called for one-on-one fights and no interference. They were stupid rules. And their opponent was twice the size of a regular person. 

~~~ 

“Hello?”

“MacLeod? It’s Adam.”

A strange gurgling noise came through the phone and Methos could just imagine the wash of relief over MacLeod. Losing a third person out of his life so soon probably would have sent the man into a full-fledged coma of misery. “Adam, thank god. Where are you? What happened?

“I’m not entirely sure.” Methos looked around, but the street signs were absent. “A corner grocery store. Seacouver Smart Mart. Do you know it?”

“There are about two dozen Smart Marts in the neighborhood.” MacLeod laughed, but it was a high and tight sound and Methos could hear him decompressing after being pushed toward the edge. “Are you okay?”

“I sort of got shanghaied for a little bit. But I’ve got some information you’ll find interesting. Better to tell you in person. I’ll find my way to Joe’s bar. Can you tell him to expect me, and a few others?”

“Yes. And I’m glad you called. Joe’s been about to send out a mass of troops to scour the streets for you.”

“Tell him to call off the bloodhounds. I’m on my way.” Methos hung up the phone and paused for a moment. He looked at Sam. “Can you take me to the bar? And I’d like to get the others. MacLeod will help.”

Sam shook his head. “No. Just me. I’ll go with you. We’ll stop by to tell them where we’re going, but I don’t want them out and roaming the streets. It isn’t safe. And the Immortal knows the bar, obviously, since he was waiting for you there.”

It only took a few moments to tell them their destination, but five minutes to convince all three not to accompany them. Sam was adamant, and Methos had to give the young man due respect for his insight. It couldn’t be easy keeping three greenhorn Immortals safe in a city as dangerous as Seacouver. 

Sam walked down the sidewalk with a swagger and a spring in his step. “I can’t wait to meet the great Duncan MacLeod. Anastasia has told me a lot about him.”

“Really? Like what?”

Sam smirked. “That he’s a ladies man. That he’s a really good cook. And that he had the biggest sword.”

Methos laughed. “She got to see his sword at some point, then?”

“I wouldn’t know. My teacher never kisses and tells.”

Methos decided he liked this stocky young kid. He had a light humor about him, even as he took on the mantle of leadership. It was a good combination. Anastasia Crewe must be very proud of her student.

Inside the bar, Methos saw Joe actually sag with relief at the sight of him. It lasted all of one second, and then Joe turned on him with blazing eyes and jabbing cane. “You!” he said, seething. “If you ever do that again, I swear I’ll whip you myself.”

Methos held up both hands. “I promise, Joe, it wasn’t any plan I came up with.” He spent a moment to introduce Sam to Joe and MacLeod, and to give them the barest sketch of what he’d learned, and what had happened.

“Anastasia Crewe?” MacLeod said. “I know her. It’s been a few years since we last saw each other.” He smiled. “Red hair, just like yours.”

“Yes, sir,” said Sam. “I think it’s why she agreed to take me on as a student.” He nudged Methos in the ribs. “Sort of like why you took on Adam here.”

Joe only made a small strangling sound, and MacLeod’s smile got even wider, although a whole lot more strained. “Took on?” he asked.

Methos intervened. “Sam’s little group has been watching out for us. They…um…saw us practicing last weekend. When you wiped the floor with me.”

“The Berloneski Technique Series,” MacLeod commented softly.

“That day, yes. Anyway, they came to the conclusion that we’re student and teacher.” Methos waved the statement away as if it were of little importance. “In any case, that’s probably why this Immortal is after me.”

“He thinks you’re my teacher,” MacLeod said, thoughtfully.

“He thinks one of us is teacher and one of us is student, anyway,” Methos said.

“So what’s the plan?” Joe asked. Methos fully expected he’d be on the Watcher database in a heartbeat as soon as Sam was gone.

“Simple,” said MacLeod. “I find this Immortal and stop him.”

“He’s enormous,” Sam cautioned. “And wicked good with a blade. He’s been killing for weeks now.”

MacLeod’s jaw set into a determined line. “I’ll stop him.”

Methos’ heart clutched in his chest. MacLeod was good, but could he overcome such immense strength? Wasn’t that why Methos had brought the problem to him? Because MacLeod was skilled enough to solve this problem with his sword?

“Adam?” Joe asked softly. “You alright?”

Methos shook his head. “It feels like madness, Joe.”

“Yeah, buddy, I know.” Joe glanced to MacLeod, and spoke in a low voice that only Methos would hear. “You knew he would take this on, the moment he couldn’t find you this morning.”

Methos grimaced.

MacLeod noticed. “Adam?”

“How about we all hit the road? I hear Palm Beach is very, very nice this time of year. I’ll spring for hotel rooms.” Methos asked breezily, but with sincerity. It sounded like the best sort of plan.

Sam laughed. “Wouldn’t that be sweet!”

MacLeod didn’t laugh. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were as dark as loam. “You ready to go home?” he asked quietly.

“Later,” Methos said, waving him down.

“I need to get back to the kids,” Sam said, joking. “Can’t leave them too long on their own.” His fingers found Methos’ wrist and pulled him aside as he waved good-bye. “You need a bolt hole, you’re always welcome,” he said. His face was serious, and very honest. “Watch your friend carefully, I think he’s a target.”

“I know,” Methos said. “Thank you. I’ll be by, in any case, with some supplies later on. And that offer of my apartment for a hot shower still stands.”

“Thanks, Adam. See you around.” Sam gave a wave and was off. 

~~~ 

The moment the door closed behind him, MacLeod and Joe headed to the computer. Methos followed them slowly, mulling over all the events of the past few weeks. MacLeod’s friends were very possibly some of the recently lost teachers for Sam’s circle of new students. And Sam was supposed to have come back with Dove, the newest orphaned student. What had happened to him?

Joe was clicking and clacking through screens at a rapid-fire pace. “Here we go,” he said. “I’d lay money this was him.”

Methos peered over Joe’s shoulder along with MacLeod. “Why bother posting a picture as out of focus as that one?”

“Better than nothing,” Joe spat back.

“Henry Rockler,” MacLeod said. “Unknown origin. Unknown teacher. Unknown date of first death. Dangerous. Watch with extreme caution.”

“Which means no watching at all, unless he runs up against a Watcher set on another Immortal,” Joe explained. He squinted at the screen and typed fast, bringing up another page. “This is all we have. First and last sighting of him, 1985.”

Methos skimmed the narrative and then went back to read it again.

 

_November 11, 1985. Veteran’s Day. I followed E.V. at approx. 0800 this morning to the flower shop where she picked up a bouquet. Brought it to the cemetery where her husband has lain since the Civil War. She spent several hours there quietly reading near his gravestone. Then, as she was about to leave, I saw her look around—a sure sign another Immortal was near—and the most enormous person I have ever seen in person came past a hedge and into full sight. He must be near seven feet tall, and with wide, strong shoulders. At the sight of E.V. he announced himself as Henry Rockler, pulled out his sword and proceeded to attack. E.V. is extraordinarily nimble and while unable to defend herself by sword, was able to outmaneuver the giant._

_Possessed of extraordinary strength, Rockler destroyed several headstones in pursuit, crumbling them easily. He paid no heed to E.V.’s call to desist as they were on holy ground. As she made her escape, I feared that Rockler might spot me, and so I turned away to hide myself. I have never witnessed such brute strength, and such utter contempt for the rules that Immortals appear to obey, nor such rage. Rockler was patently furious at the sight of E.V., though it appeared she did not know him. I have lost E.V. at the moment due to safety concerns, and will return to her home to await her arrival there to continue watching._

 

“E.V.?” MacLeod asked.

“Evelyn Vaughn, she’s still active,” Joe said, answering the unspoken question. He tapped at his keys again. “That’s all there is. No one ever saw him again.”

“He’d be hard to miss,” Methos said wryly.

MacLeod flicked a look at Methos. “How accurate is this description?”

“I’d say it is a bit understated. He’s as big as reported. Strong. Not particularly quick, but I wouldn’t call him lumbering. Ordinary.” Methos touched his head where he’d been bashed. “I don’t know about his skills. He just sort of whacked me around. He may not have needed to use skills, but that doesn’t mean he is unskilled.” Methos stared off into the distance. “I suppose he could have killed me with the first blow, if he’d really wanted. Perhaps he was toying with me after all.”

MacLeod placed a hand on Methos’ shoulder. It was a comforting warmth there and Methos felt somewhat bolstered. “It’s almost lunchtime. Joe has work to do to get ready for opening later, and I bet you could use a shower and a change of clothes,” MacLeod said.

“Do I smell, MacLeod?” Methos asked pointedly.

MacLeod wrinkled his nose. “Well, now that you mention it. You do.”

“Whatever,” Methos muttered. 

“Now you’re starting to sound like those kids you were hanging out with,” Joe said, chuckling.

“Let’s just go,” Methos said. What he really wanted was to head back to his own apartment, but the thought of leaving MacLeod alone ran a cold shiver up his spine. Methos pulled his coat tight around him. He had one gun on him, and it was loaded. As big as Rockler was, a handgun would bring him low. At least long enough for Methos to chop the bastard’s head off.

Methos followed MacLeod outside. “I should retrieve my car.”

“Hop in mine and I’ll drive you over,” MacLeod said.

“Not going to let me out of your sight?” Methos asked.

“No.”

The car retrieval went smoothly and fifteen minutes later they were entering MacLeod’s loft.

“Hot shower,” Methos said, “then food.”

“I’ll have something ready,” MacLeod promised as he turned to go into the kitchen area. 

“Then a nap,” Methos added. Something about sleeping propped against a wall just wasn’t all that restful.

After his shower, dressed once again in comfortable, clean clothes, and enjoying a bowl of hot chicken soup, Methos sat and stared at MacLeod. “You might not be able to beat him,” he said.

“I’ve thought about that. But there are ways to fight against opponents who are taller and stronger.”

“There are. But his reach is going to be difficult to compensate for.” Methos fiddled with an oyster cracker, then dunked it in the soup. “We have other options.”

“Like?”

“Miami Beach. Hawaii. Saint-Martin.”

“He might follow us.”

Methos shook his head. “I think he’s just opportunistic. He’s in this area now. Just goes roaming around, smashing and killing. Then onto the next area, more smashing. More killing.”

“He’s after you,” MacLeod said simply, and his voice held an edge that told more about MacLeod’s intentions than even the stone-cold look in his face. MacLeod found it unconscionable that he would choose to do anything but take on the threat. 

“No. I think he’s after you,” Methos retorted. “I glossed over it earlier, but the group of orphaned students really do think that you’re my teacher. If Rockler thinks the same thing, then it is you he wants. I’m just there for terrorizing. To get you primed to fight. Maybe the bastard likes it that way.”

MacLeod searched his face before giving a controlled nod. “So we stick together. Whichever one he doesn’t go for will have to be the one to stop him.”

“That’s your plan? Really?” Methos asked. “That’s a terrible plan!”

“I’m well known for being a master strategist, you know.” MacLeod couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “I learned it from the best. When in trouble, wing it.”

Methos laughed. “You’ve learned quickly, grasshopper.”

“Want that nap now?”

“And how.”

~~~ 

He slept until nearly sundown, with MacLeod puttering about in the kitchen making safe, domestic noises. It was a good way to sleep. With MacLeod there, standing watch, Methos could actually relax and allow himself to sleep deeply. 

He yawned and rolled over. 

“What do you want for dinner?” MacLeod asked. He appeared to have pulled all his mugs out of the cabinet and was reorganizing them. 

“Pizza,” Methos said. “We need to go out for supplies. Those kids don’t have much, and they’re too skittish to trust coming to either of our apartments, so we’ll need to bring food to them. And some prepaid cell phones.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe even some warmer clothes.”

“We can do that.” MacLeod whisked the mugs back into the cupboard, whatever project he’d planed now postponed.

Methos crawled off the bed and laced up his boots. “Any news from Joe?”

“Not a peep.” MacLeod shrugged into his own coat. “He’s probably busy running the bar.”

Methos pulled on his own coat, and they went out into the weakening sunlight. The world was turning a greyish haze, and the sky was overcast and cloudy. A few itinerant snow flakes fell here and there, but not enough to do any damage, and the slush and grime of the sidewalks stayed half-solid and half-liquid.

The trip to the supermarket took about an hour and the trip to the five-and-dime took another hour, so that by the time MacLeod pulled up near the basement dwelling, the sky had grown fully dark.

MacLeod was pulling the bags out of the trunk when the cacophony of a nearby Immortal signature hit them. 

Methos put his hand to his sword. “Marty? Sam?” he called out. “Louisa? John?”

There was no answer, and Methos shot a warning look at MacLeod, who dropped the bags and reached his own hand into his coat. They stood that way for at least five minutes.

“Trying to spook us?” MacLeod asked.

“Maybe.” Methos considered the options. “We weren’t followed.”

“You were checking on that, too,” MacLeod said. “And I agree. We weren’t.”

“So, he must already be aware of where they are hiding.”

“They need to be moved, then,” MacLeod said. “They can’t hide here anymore.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to convince Sam of that, and the others will follow him.”

“Where do we put them?”

“I’ve got a few bolt holes around the city, I can give them one of mine.” Cautiously, Methos went down the staircase and knocked on the door, but he already knew that none of them were inside. The absence of Immortal signature told him that. He scribbled a note on the back of a scrap of paper and pushed it under the door, then returned to MacLeod. “Let’s leave this stuff at Joe’s. They can retrieve it there and find their own new hiding hole, or wait for us to take them to mine.”

“Okay,” Duncan said. “And then we need to find this Immortal. Before he goes around killing anyone else.”

“I think Joe can help us with that,” Methos said. “If we look at where the challenges took place, we might be able to see a pattern and guess his location.”

“Maybe,” Duncan said, but it was grudgingly given, and Methos knew that it was indeed a long shot.

They drove over to Joe’s bar in silence. 

“Leave the stuff in the car for now,” Methos said. “Let’s talk to Joe first and make sure he has the room for it.”

MacLeod nodded and turned to shut the door to the Thunderbird.

“Hey, excuse me!”

Methos and MacLeod turned at the address, to see a police officer approaching them. 

“Yes, Officer?” MacLeod asked, his body language turning respectful and cautious.

“Last night,” the officer said, and now Methos could see the name badge on the officer’s jacket. Talmadge. “Last night, there was an altercation.” He had given MacLeod a brief look over, but was focusing his attention on Methos. “I thought it might have been you. You were hurt. Someone was attacking you. Did you report it?” The officer was clearly giving Methos the up and down, confused. “You were bleeding out your ears,” he said slowly. “Seriously wounded. It was you, it had to be. The attacker came back and....”

“Do I look like a man who was attacked?” Methos asked. He spread his hands, obviously in good health. 

“No....” The Officer’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Must have been someone else,” Methos said. 

Officer Talmadge opened his mouth to protest, which is when the roaring of Immortal presence engulfed them. All Methos saw was the splintered shadow of a giant man caught in the parking lot lights, and then he was airborne.

He rolled to a landing, ignoring the bruises and stunned areas of his body, and turned to survey the area. Rockler had brushed aside the officer, too, who was very slowly getting to his feet, and would soon be going for his weapon. 

MacLeod was squaring off against the giant Immortal. “I was wondering when I’d get to meet you,” he said.

Rockler just grunted and swung his own sword. MacLeod ducked, but didn’t have time to do anything but take a few steps back. Rockler swung again, and again MacLeod ducked and stepped back.

Methos reached for his own gun. MacLeod only had a few more feet in which to retreat before his back would be against a wall.

The wash of Immortal presence came over him, distracting, and Methos sought it out. Marty again, near Officer Talmadge, who had once again been tasered. Methos gave Marty a nod, and turned back to aim at Rockler.

MacLeod had maneuvered brilliantly, however, and Rockler had actually backed up a few steps. Rockler’s sword had bit chunks out of two nearby cars, and car alarms were going off at deafening levels. But MacLeod’s sword had actually done damage, and there was a razor thin slice along Rockler’s bicep area.

Methos pulled the trigger, and was pleased to note his aim was good. Rockler took a shot to the upper chest, staggered, but didn’t go down. He swung again at MacLeod, who danced out of the way. 

“Good, good,” he grated, and then kicked MacLeod in the chest, sending him flying into another car. “Good teacher,” he said, pausing in his attack. He wrapped his hand around his bicep, a feral smile growing on his face, and turned to catch Methos in his sights.

Methos kept his gun up, trying to aim again. It had to be a head shot. Rockler could take a bullet to his torso and stay up long enough to let Immortal healing deal with it. 

Rockler pivoted and ran straight at Methos. Methos let off two shots, one going wide, one hitting Rockler somewhere, but obviously not doing any damage, and then the giant was upon him. A slap to his head, and Methos’ world went spinning. His eyesight exploded into bright points of light, and he scrambled to grasp his sword just by blind touch, but another slap and his sword went spinning away from him and his hands stung as if a hundred hornets had attacked him at once.

Methos felt himself lifted and slung. He kicked and received another slap that left him too breathless to move.

Distantly he could hear MacLeod shouting, and then he stopped being aware of anything at all.

~~~ 

When Methos regained consciousness, he found himself in another dank cellar. Somewhere. He was tied at the wrists and ankles. And Rockler was squatting against the far wall, staring at him. Even hunkered down, the man was massive and imposing in size.

They watched each other for a few long minutes before Methos decided that the taciturn giant would probably not have much to say unless the conversation was started for him. And Methos could only benefit from some conversation.

“Hello,” he said and Rockler’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I’m Adam.”

Rockler raised his left hand and cracked his knuckles.

“Are you Henry Rockler?”

That gave Rockler pause. “You know me?”

Methos shrugged. “That’s all I know.” He let that sink in. “What exactly do you plan on doing here?” Considering that he was tied up and not already beheaded, Methos thought he had a good chance of not ending the day by being dead.

“I don’t kill students,” Rockler grated out, his eyes boring into Methos.

Methos swallowed. If he said he wasn’t a student, would Rockler stop going after MacLeod? But would he then decide Methos was game enough to kill? Methos decided to pursue discretion, his usual choice in these types of matters. Valor and truthfulness might save MacLeod, but right now Methos was far more concerned about his own prospects.

“You’ve taken a few heads lately,” Methos said.

“All teachers,” Rockler assented. “None of them worthy.”

“Worthy?”

Rockler regarded Methos with undisguised disgust. “Weak. All of them. Not worthy to teach. Students are better off without such teachers.” He looked thoughtful. “Except for yours.”

“MacLeod?” Methos prompted.

Rockler rubbed at his bicep. “He cut me.”

“He did. And that makes him worthy?”

Rockler nodded. 

“So, you aren’t going to go after him again?”

“No. He may live.”

Methos tested the bonds on his wrists very slowly, trying to think. MacLeod would be safe now, as long as Rockler didn’t change his mind. But Rockler’s vendetta against teachers seemed to be in full swing. Which meant that almost every other Immortal out there was in danger. Who didn’t take a student every once in a while, even if not entirely qualified? Should they leave a hapless new Immortal to the whims of trying to find a teacher who could actually best benefit them? Teacher-student relationships blossomed like happenstance. Freshly minted Immortals were lucky if they found anyone to give them the new rules of their life, never mind that they might not find the most qualified and skillful instructor.

“What about me?” Methos asked.

Rockler shook his head. “You’re a terrible student. You bring a gun to fight instead of going for your sword. You don’t listen to your teacher.”

Methos kept his mouth firmly shut, but he couldn’t do much about the burn of anger that crept across his face.

Rockler seemed to take this blush as shame. He continued, “I don’t know what to do with you. You aren’t worth MacLeod’s efforts. Not yet.” H rose from his squatting position. “I am considering training you. At least enough so that when I return you to MacLeod that you will be worthy of such a teacher.”

Methos choked down every possible reply.

~~~ 

Rockler had left him alone to his own thoughts for hours. And Methos’ thoughts were not nice. The ropes tied around his hands were cutting off circulation, which meant that his fingers were numb and useless. He could squirm around a bit, but the door was locked, and there was nothing in the room that had a sharp enough edge to fray the rope. Methos tried at the knot and rope with his teeth for a while, but eventually fell back, exhausted.

The best he could hope for was a rescue. 

There was a slight chance that Marty had been able to follow Rockler. Maybe.

MacLeod must be having a conniption by now. Methos rolled his neck, easing the kinks out of it. Joe would be having a fit at least equal to it. 

He wondered what had happened to Officer Talmadge. 

Then, Rockler was coming back in the room with a bottle of water and a banana. 

“I brought you food,” he said. He didn’t untie Methos, but patiently fed him bites of banana and sips of water. He studied Methos while he gave him the food.

“Why teachers?” Methos asked in-between bites. “Why go after them?”

Rockler’s face darkened. “Do you fear me? Is my size frightening to you?”

Methos gave a slight nod.

“Then you can imagine the difficulty I had in finding a teacher. And how often others tried to kill me, thinking to take on my Quickening.”

“No one would teach you?” Methos mulled that over. It wasn’t that uncommon for a new Immortal to find no teacher at all. It wasn’t as if there was a code or a law that made them take students. New Immortals just sort of wandered around until someone took pity on them.

“They either refused, fearing me. Or they took me on as a ruse to take my head. It took me many years to finally find one skilled enough and brave enough to be my teacher.”

Insight filled Methos for just a moment. “Ramirez?”

Rockler’s face brightened. “You know my teacher?” Then he scowled. “But how? He died long before you were born.”

Methos thought quickly. “He was the teacher to Connor MacLeod, too. Who is cousin to Duncan MacLeod.”

Rockler’s face went back to being placid. “Of course.” He seemed to chew on this for a moment. Then his enormous paw of a hand came down on Methos’ head and rubbed him like a puppy. “Nephew! That makes you family.”

Methos just blinked and nodded. For a moment he’d thought Rockler was going to slap him senseless again. 

Rockler shook his head at Methos again. “And now what to do with you? I had all but decided that you wouldn’t accept me as a teacher given the circumstances, and was going to return you MacLeod, but now I see it is even more important that you become an excellent student. Ramirez’s legacy will have to run through you some day. I will have to think on this.” He patted Methos head again. “Don’t worry too much. I’ll figure out what to do with you.” He lumbered to his feet, filling the small room with his bulk, and then was out the door.

Methos nearly collapsed against the floor. Where the hell was the rescue party?

~~~

It was hours later and Methos had fallen asleep on the floor when the sense of another Immortal approaching awakened him. Something about the signature alarmed him into believing it was not Rockler returning. He squirmed into the corner of the room. At least he could put in a few kicks before he was taken.

Someone fumbled at the lock on the door, and a moment later a bright-haired head popped into the room.

“Sam!” Methos said, recognizing his rescuer. Relief flooded through his system. He had been worrying what Rockler’s wild emotional swings might make him believe next.

“Adam!” Sam bounded over to him. He dug a folding knife out of his pocket and sliced through Methos’ ropes. “We were afraid of the worst.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Methos tried to rub at his wrists but his hands were completely numb. His feet hadn’t been tied as tightly, so he could still walk, although not especially gracefully.

“Hurry,” Sam said. “He left about ten minutes ago, but I don’t know how soon he’ll be back.”

Methos followed Sam out of the room, noting that he had been kept in the sub-basement of an old apartment building, and when they finally reached street level, Methos nearly laughed. “We’re four blocks from Joe’s bar,” he said.

“This is how he can pop up and then hide so quickly,” Sam said. “He’s got more than one of these basements.”

Methos recalled the way that he and MacLeod had experienced an unseen Immortal outside Sam’s hiding hole. “Your basement area isn’t safe any more, either, you know. He knows you’re there.”

“I know,” Sam said, his cheerful disposition vanishing. “Marty and Louisa have been following him around. Staying out of the way.”

“Marty is quite accomplished at following people without their knowing,” Methos said, thinking of how Marty had appeared in the nick of time to keep Officer Talmadge out of the fray.

“Louisa’s just as good,” Sam said proudly. 

“Eventually, they’ll make a mistake, though,” Methos said. “You should call them off. There’s no reasoning with him, and there’s no defeating him. At least not yet.”

“Already done.” Sam stopped at the corner. “Your teacher and friend are inside. Having a big freak out.”

“You didn’t tell them you were coming to get me out?” Methos asked.

“No. I wasn’t sure I could be successful. Didn’t want them to go barging in.”

“Imagine that. MacLeod barging in.” Methos had to admit that Sam had a good point. MacLeod would have taken over any rescue operation in a heartbeat. He flapped his hands, the sensation was finally coming back into them, and they were tingling and pinching. “You should have told them, though. What if something had happened to you?”

“The others knew where I was and what I was doing.”

Methos looked at the bar. Time to go in.

~~~ 

He pushed open the door slowly, giving MacLeod time to feel his presence and to realize it was him, not a foe.

“Methos,” MacLeod said on a breath, and came forward to clasp him in a relieved hug. 

Methos hugged him back, and then he gave Joe a quick hug. “Hell, Adam,” Joe said, “Aw, hell.” 

Sam had scuffed in behind him, hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

Methos held up his hands. “A bit painful at the moment. Rockler had me tied up. Sam found and rescued me.”

MacLeod turned his eyes on Sam and Methos could practically read the oath in them where MacLeod promised anything in return for this rescue. Methos had to turn away, the raw emotion in MacLeod’s face was too much to bear. 

“Sam,” MacLeod said. “I can’t thank you enough. If you ever need something, you have only to ask.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied, his voice uncertain and Methos turned back just in time to see Sam cast a curious, questioning glance his way. “I’ll keep that in mind. Hope I never have to call on you.”

MacLeod gave him the royal nod, sealing the blood-oath he’d just promised and Methos interrupted before poor Sam had to squirm any further under the heavy honor-system that MacLeod lived and breathed by. “We’ve got a bigger problem than we even thought before.”

“What’d you learn?” Joe asked. He’d poured a mug of black coffee and now handed it to Methos. “You look like you could use a hot drink,” he said.

Methos took the mug, his hands actually obeying the command to hold and not drop, and was surprised how comforting the heat of the coffee through the ceramic was. “Rockler’s out for blood. He’s got a vendetta against any and every teacher, unless he deems them worthy of being a teacher.” He cast a sharp glance at MacLeod. “He’s taken your measure and approves.”

MacLeod grunted a response, but his eyes were steely and sharp. He could have cared less what Rockler thought of him.

Methos continued, “He’s not so crazy about me, thinks I’m a slacker.” He smiled for an instant, trying to internalize the odd situation that _everyone_ but Joe and MacLeod thought he was a green immortal, and a lousy student. “And that I’m his nephew.” He coughed, amused and embarrassed to convey this tidbit of information.

“Nephew?” MacLeod echoed. “Immortals don’t have families.”

“You do. Connor.”

“He’s clan,” MacLeod said, as if this was as easy to understand as the sun was in the sky. 

“And he taught you, and Ramirez taught him. And Ramirez was the only person who was brave enough to take on a giant of a student. So he thinks we’re family.”

“How do you figure into that equation?” Joe asked. His finger was pointed in the air as he tried to follow the jumping genealogy. 

“Rockler assumed I was MacLeod’s student. Same as Sam’s group did.”

Joe snickered. “Student? You?”

“It’s unimportant. The important thing is that Rockler isn’t going to stop. He’s out to test every teacher he comes across and if they don’t measure up to his standards, he’ll kill them.”

“We’ve got to stop him.” MacLeod slammed down a fist on the bar counter.

“No argument here,” Methos said. “But he’s been doing it all in one to one challenges. And we’ve seen him. He’s huge. And strong. The question is how?”

“Kill all the teachers?” Sam repeated. He sagged onto a bar stool. “My god. Marty, John, and Louisa are bad enough--they’re broken on the inside--what’ll happen if there are young Immortals everywhere?”

“Chaos,” Joe said. “Sounds like chaos.” He gave MacLeod and Methos a hard look. “You know where I stand.” He turned to the bar. “Looks like we’ll need another pot of coffee.”

MacLeod put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll think of something.” Then he walked off to a quiet corner of the bar, head down, thinking his own deep thoughts.

Methos leaned against the bar. “I was meaning to ask you, did you ever find that other student you were looking for?”

“Dove?” Sam asked. “No. I never did. He must be totally spooked. In hiding. I’ll find him sooner or later. Took me almost a month to find Marty. And then, it was really more like he found me.”

“Kid’s got skills,” Methos said. He turned to Joe and watched him fill the coffee maker with water. “What happened with the cop last night?”

Joe snorted and shot Sam a sudden look. “The one that got tasered?”

“That’s the one.”

“He came by here twice, looking for you. I tried talking to him, but he’s all wound up about your being kidnapped. And the attacker. Seems he didn’t quite get entirely knocked out by the taser and saw some of the fracas.”

“Shit.”

“Nah. No worries. I’m thinking recruit.” Joe measured out the coffee grounds. “I got people at the P.D. keeping a lid on his reporting. We’ll reel him in soon as he’s ready. I could use some fresh blood around here. And another cop on the force would be quite the coupe.”

“You always turn up roses.”

“Do my best to till the soil.” Joe leaned on the bar, and he searched Methos’ face for a long moment. “You’re going to kill Duncan if you keep going missing.”

“Wasn’t exactly my idea to get kidnapped,” Methos replied, drawing up. “And Immortals can’t died of stress.”

“Well, Mac’ll be the first.”

Methos grunted noncommittally in reply and turned away. 

“I’m going now,” Sam told him, thumbing at the door. “I need to find the others and tell them what’s happened. Figure out what we want to do.”

“There’s stuff in the car,” Methos said, remembering. “Food, clothes, cell phones.”

“I’ll take the phones,” Sam said. “Leave the rest of it here, and we’ll get it later. I don’t want to be lugging anything around right now.”

“Understood.” Methos fumbled through his pockets looking for the spare key that MacLeod had given him. They walked outside, and to the car.

“Dude’s got it bad,” Sam remarked as Methos dug the cell phones out of a plastic bag and handed them over. 

“Hmm? Yes,” Methos said, “Otherwise he wouldn’t be after teachers. Trauma in his history. It’s practically a staple of being an Immortal. You can’t escape your past.”

Sam shook his head. “No, not that dude. MacLeod. I see why he won’t be your teacher now.”

“What?” Methos squinted at the young man. He couldn’t make much sense out of what Sam was saying. Perhaps it was time to clear up the student-teacher misunderstanding. “He’s not my teacher. I’m not a student. I’m not _anybody’s_ student. Is that clear?” 

“Crystal,” Sam said and laughed. “I’m just saying he won’t take you on because it’d be a conflict of interest.”

The last thing Methos wanted was to have this conversation in the parking lot with a young Immortal he barely knew. Methos grunted and slammed the door closed. “Keep an eye out. Rockler is around somewhere.”

Sam waved the new cell phones. “You’ve got our numbers. Call us if you need us.”

Methos watched him walk away, then headed back into the bar.

“The problem, as I see it,” Joe said to him, “is that we don’t know where Rockler is, or who he’ll strike next.”

“The problem is that no one can beat him,” Methos rejoined bitterly. He glanced at MacLeod, brooding on his own thoughts, in the far corner of the bar. “MacLeod might be able to, but it’d be a near thing. Rockler’s massive size gives him a lot of advantages.” He sighed. “I’m starting to think that the best thing to do, actually, would be to hit the road. Rockler can’t kill us if we aren’t here. I don’t think he’ll hunt MacLeod down, and he isn’t interested in me for the moment. Nor the kids.” Methos picked up his head. “Who does that leave?”

Joe shook his head. “There are a dozen Immortals or more in Seacouver. Big city. Big Immortal population. I told you before, we don’t have the manpower to keep track of the sedentary ones, other than checking in on them. We concentrate on the rogues.”

“Yes, but who has been checked in on lately and been found to be teaching?” Methos asked. 

“I’ll look.” Joe got up and Methos followed him to the computer. He started clicking through screens. “Here’s Mac’s friends. Michael Velo. No student. Nolan Jiminez. One student, named Dove.”

“Sam’s been looking for him. He’s M.I.A.” Methos skimmed over the recently deceased list, noting that Louisa’s and John’s teachers were the Immortals killed within the past three weeks. Poor kids, on their own for less than a month. 

“Here we go. Mercy Prudhomme. And her student Sienna.” Joe jotted the address down on a scrap of paper. “The least you could do is warn them. They might let you hang around, waiting for Rockler.”

Methos thought of his rifle and sight, hidden back in his apartment. He hadn’t done near enough recent practice in sharp-shooting, but even rusty, he was still a damn fine shot. If he didn’t tell MacLeod, he could set up somewhere near Mercy’s house and pick off Rockler. Definitely make it a head shot. And behead him before Rockler could get up again. Being big and strong didn’t help any when your brains got scrambled.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” Joe said warningly, “you better run it by Mac. I don’t like the way you’re grinning just now.”

Methos considered. There was an outside possibility that MacLeod would agree to the sharp shooting. Then there was the almost certainty that he wouldn’t. He could tell MacLeod about Mercy and her student, bring the rifle along just in case, and scout out where he could hide. See the lay of the land first, then decide if it would work. He wouldn’t tell MacLeod just yet. 

“Let’s go tell MacLeod about Mercy.”

MacLeod looked up at them with a bland expression and Methos couldn’t help but wonder what the man had been plotting. The blank look was far more worrisome than any vitriol and theatrics that MacLeod might have shown. 

Joe explained about Mercy. 

“We need to warn her, at the very least,” MacLeod decided. 

“Do you know her at all?”

“No.” He looked to Methos. 

“Not me,” Methos said. 

Joe sighed. “It’ll be awkward trying to approach another Immortal in their house.”

Methos and MacLeod nodded. Neither of them would trust a strange Immortal showing up on their door, no matter how earnest they appeared. 

“Maybe one of the kids?” Methos suggested. 

“Call,” MacLeod agreed. 

Methos reached for the slip of paper with the cell phone numbers and decided to call Sam first. He kept his fingers crossed that the cell phones would actually work. They’d paid extra to have them pre-charged.

“Hello, this is Sam,” said Sam on the first ring. “It’s only been thirty minutes. You miss me that much, Adam?” he teased. 

“Absolutely,” Methos said. “But I have a serious question for you. There’s another Immortal in town. Mercy Prudhomme. She has a student. We’d like to warn her about the recent events, but neither I nor MacLeod know her. We were hoping one of you did and introductions could be made.”

“Hold on, I’ll ask” Sam said lightly. There were muffled sounds and then Sam came back on the line. “Louisa knows them. She said her teacher brought her over there frequently to get additional training on being a female Immortal.”

“Would she mind bringing us over there?” Methos asked. “Sooner the better.”

There were more muffled sounds and then Sam said, “She’ll be over shortly.” Sam paused. “You think Rockler is going after them?”

“They’re the only other teacher-student pair we know about, so it is our best chance. And maybe if they leave town, they’ll be safe,” Methos said. 

“Okay,” Sam said. “Later, dude.”

Methos relayed the information to MacLeod. “Looks like we’ve got our introduction.”

“Good.” MacLeod put his hand on Methos’ shoulder. “Methos, if Rockler shows up again....”

“I’ll run if I can run and fight if I can fight. You worry about your own safety.”

MacLeod waved that away as if it were nothing more than a soap bubble. His eyes were dark and focused on Methos and Methos felt as if he were being dragged down, under the froth of a cold, languid ocean. “If he thinks you’re my student, and he doesn’t harm students, don’t do anything to disabuse him of that notion.”

“And let him take some more whacks at you? I don’t think so, MacLeod.” Methos threw up his arms. “I’m not letting you take a sword to the neck for me. Besides, he’s not after either of us for the moment.”

“You don’t think he’ll change his mind when I challenge him?”

“Are you insane?” Methos whirled around to point a finger in MacLeod’s face. “After last night? You want to go toe-to-toe with him?”

“What other choice is there?”

Methos thought about his sniper rifle, but said nothing. 

Luckily Louisa entered the bar, interrupting their argument.

~~~ 

Methos made introductions to MacLeod and Joe, and then they were off. Mercy Prudhomme lived in the residential area, just as the city started to turn into suburbs. She had a nice lawn, well maintained rows of hedges that rose quite high to keep out nosy neighbors, and a house that looked like it should have come out of an advertisement for gingerbread. Little garden gnomes were scattered about, waiting for the warmer months and plants to bloom again. 

Louisa knocked on the door. “Mercy? Sienna? It’s Louisa. I’ve got two friends with me, too.”

Mercy came to the door, one hand down at her side and Methos smiled. The woman was cautious, and good. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure she had a nifty little firearm there, just in case of any trickery. 

“Lou?” Mercy asked. She was a tall woman, with dark blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. She took in her visitors with alacrity and calm readiness. 

“This is Duncan MacLeod and Adam Pierson. There’s been some trouble. I wanted to warn you.”

“I heard about Merritt,” Mercy said. “I was wondering why you hadn’t come to me sooner.”

Tears started streaming down Louisa’s eyes. “Oh, Mercy. I was afraid. I’ve been hiding. I didn’t want him to get you. But now I’m afraid if I don’t tell you that he’ll come. Please, please let us in.”

Mercy’s appraising look wandered over Methos and MacLeod again. “Fine.” She kept her hand down by her side, but backed up enough to let them enter. 

Louisa was already spilling the entire story, even from the moment she started through the door. MacLeod and Methos filled in when there was a pause. 

At the end of it, Mercy sat down hard on her couch, and finally Methos could see the semi-automatic that she had kept at the ready. He started to think that perhaps Mercy would not disapprove of his sniper rifle. 

Mercy shook her head. “It sounds so incredible. But there have been so many challenges lately....” She blinked and her face hardened, coming to a decision. “I’m good, but I don’t think I’m good enough to take on this monster that you describe. Sienna and I will be leaving. I’ve been meaning to take her on some trips, anyway. Foreign travel. We’ll just start a little earlier than anticipated.”

MacLeod exchanged a glance with Methos. “I think that’s for the best. Tonight, if you can manage to leave that soon.”

“Yes. Tonight,” Mercy agreed. “Thank you for coming to warn us. It’s not everyone who would come to warn a complete stranger.”

MacLeod nodded. “Of course. But we really had to. We couldn't leave you in danger.”

Methos was considering the house. “I know this is an odd request, but would you mind if we used your house?”

“What?”

“If Rockler doesn’t know you’re gone, he may come here. It might be an opportunity.”

Mercy shook her head. “I think you should probably run, just like you’ve advised me. What makes you think you can defeat him here, if you couldn’t before?”

“Let us worry about that. Do you mind?” MacLeod said. 

“Go ahead, use the house,” Mercy said. “If no one takes care of this Immortal, I doubt we’ll feel safe coming back here.” Mercy fixed her sight on Louisa. “You’re coming with us, Lou. No buts. Merritt would never forgive me if I left you here.”

Louisa sniffled at the mention of her teacher’s name but nodded. Methos was glad that Louisa was going with Mercy. One less baby Immortal to worry about, and now she’d have protection and friends. Perhaps another teacher, at least temporarily. Louisa gave Methos a small smile. “You’ll tell Sam and the others?”

Methos nodded. 

“And Marty. Tell him to be careful. If I’m not there to watch his back....”

“I’ll remind him,” Methos said. “Don’t worry too much, he’s got that taser. And a quick trigger finger.”

Louisa giggled, and then she and Mercy vanished upstairs, Mercy on the phone to her own student, barking orders. 

MacLeod got up to draw all the curtains closed. He peered out through a slim slit in one of them. “We’ve got the house. Now what?”

“We set up residence and wait.” Methos rubbed his head a little, wondering how he was going to get his rifle here. He had the sneaking suspicion that MacLeod wasn’t going to let him out of his sight. “There are some supplies I’d like to have on hand,” he began. 

MacLeod gave a tight smile. “Why am I not surprised.”

“I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Not necessary.”

“There’s a giant Immortal bent on killing, and you don’t think we should travel together?”

“When you put it that way,” Methos said, conceding defeat. “I suppose we should travel together.” He would have to figure out another way to get his hands on his rifle.

MacLeod called up the stairs. “We’ll be right back. We need to run an errand.”

Mercy appeared at the top of the stairs and threw down a set of keys. “All yours.”

MacLeod grabbed the keys out of the air. “Let’s go.”

They left the house, walking swiftly, then slowing as they saw that the Thunderbird had been blocked in the driveway by a police car behind it. “Fuck,” Methos muttered. “Joe said he’d taken care of this.”

“Obviously not,” MacLeod whispered back as they closed in on the situation. “We can talk our way out, I think.”

“This your car, sir?” asked the police officer. 

“Yes. Is there a problem, Officer?” MacLeod assumed his most pleasing voice. 

“You’re wanted for questioning with regards to a kidnapping,” the officer said, his mouth drawn down, his fingers itching. “As a witness only,” the officer clarified. 

“I didn’t know,” MacLeod said placating. “I’ll be glad to give a statement, obviously. But right now I’ve got some business to attend to. I’ll give my statement later.”

The officer didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded. “You’re free to go. Make sure you come down tot he station as soon as you can.”

“Of course,” Macleod said. He unlocked the door to the Thunderbird. “Of course,” he repeated. He got in, and so did Methos. It took a full five minutes before the officer pulled his car away, unblocking them. 

MacLeod gave a sideways glance at Methos. “Did you want to give a statement too? It was your kidnapping that they’re hounding me about.”

Methos ignored the dig. “Talmadge must have more friends in the force than Joe’s people can handle.” He sighed. “We’ll tell Joe. Maybe he can bring Talmadge in sooner rather than later for the big talk about how he can join the ranks of the Watchers.”

“Where to first?” MacLeod asked. 

“My apartment, please. I’d like a few more things if we’re going to camp out at Mercy’s house.”

“As you wish.”

Fortunately, Methos didn’t have too much trouble bringing the sniper rifle with him. Amazingly, MacLeod’s concept of sticking together meant just that Methos couldn’t travel on his own, MacLeod could. He’d left Methos to run back to his own loft to pick up a few necessities, so Methos had plenty of time to organize his arsenal, and pack a few extra clothes. Weighing the thought of saying something to MacLeod about his double standard, Methos decided the better part of discretion was actually _having_ the rifle with him, rather than MacLeod’s constant over-protection. 

When MacLeod drove back to pick him up, he was ready. 

The sun was setting and the sky had turned a hazy pink when they returned to Mercy’s house. She was in the process of bringing suitcases out to her own car. Another girl with long brown hair was present, running in and out of the house, and Methos assumed she was the student, Sienna. She gave Methos and MacLeod a hard look, but Louisa put her hand on Sienna’s wrist and spoke to her for a moment, and she quickly returned to packing the car. 

“Are you ready to go?” Methos asked as he neared Louisa.

“I think so. I don’t have anything much to bring with me. I abandoned it at Merritt’s house.” She looked resigned. “But this’ll be better than hiding out in basements.”

“You’ll be fine,” Methos assured her. “I think you’ve got a long life ahead of you.”

Louisa turned her head. “Uh-oh. Someone’s here.”

“Rockler?”

“No, the police.” Louisa backed away. 

“Fuck,” Methos said as an unmarked, but distinctive car pulled in behind the Thunderbird. “Go,” he told MacLeod. “I’ll talk to him.”

MacLeod nodded and headed toward Mercy’s car. “He’ll have to move so they can get out,” he said as he walked in the other direction.

“Officer Talmadge,” Methos said as the man exited his car. The previous patrol car must have reported back to Talmadge about the location, hence his presence here.

Officer Talmadge was clearly agitated. He hitched his belt and then hitched it again, his eyes narrowed, obviously contemplating how he was going to begin this conversation.

“Can I help you, sir?” Methos asked, looking as harmless and sincere as he could muster. Talmadge might be consternated by events, but there was no reason for him to detain anyone. This would be a difficult, awkward conversation, but Methos was confident that would be the end of things.

“Are you alright?” Talmadge asked. His eyes darted to MacLeod and the car being loaded up near the house.

“Perfectly fine,” Methos said. 

“The other night--”

The brush of presence grated across Methos’ nerves and Talmadge’s words were drowned out. Methos swiveled around. Rockler had just walked _through_ the hedge.

“Shit,” said Talmadge.

“What is it about you that seems to bring him around?” Methos muttered. He surveyed the scene. He and Talmadge were at the end of the driveway, MacLeod was near the entrance to the house, and Rockler was heading straight for Mercy. 

“In the house!” MacLeod shouted the order, his sword already out. He stood between Rockler and the three women.

Talmadge’s hand went to his firearm, pausing there as he assessed the events for himself. With his other hand, he pulled out a cell phone, with obvious intentions of calling in the incident.

“I don’t think so,” Methos said, striking out, knocking the cell phone away. It went skittering, lost, and made a sound that indicated it was probably smashed and unusable. He regretted the lack of a taser. Marty had the right idea there, and Talmadge would have been much better served to be out of the fighting, once again. “No backup. Run for your life.” He brought out his own sword from beneath his coat. 

Methos shifted his attention back to Rockler bearing down on MacLeod. MacLeod had the ferocious, calm look of a man about to go into battle, and win, or go down trying. Methos stepped forward to intercept, determined not to let MacLeod fight alone, no matter what rules might constrain them.

Talmadge’s eyes widened and he grasped his gun, bringing it up, and ready. Methos shook his head and turned back to the officer, intending to disarm him as quickly as possible. He was losing precious moments, and he wanted to reach MacLeod before Rockler did. 

Then his chest exploded in pain.

Methos reached up to grasp the shaft of an arrow he found suddenly embedded in his chest, his legs going weak. Talmadge caught him as he fell, and eased Methos down to the ground, which was just as well because a moment later Methos could see that other arrows had found their marks in Louisa, Sienna, and Mercy. The women went down into crumpled, lifeless forms. When had that happened? How long had the shooter been targeting them?

“Keep…down,” Methos gasped. If Talmadge stayed down with him, perhaps the mortal wouldn’t end up with an arrow to the heart.

Beside him, Talmadge breathed heavily, his face pale and focused. He had his gun up, looking, looking, but not seeing anyone to shoot. 

That left just Rockler and MacLeod. Methos’ head pounded and his heart beat furiously in his chest. He tried to pull at the arrow, but the pain made him cry out. Talmadge, crouched on the ground, touched Methos on the shoulder. “Stay with me. Just keep breathing,” he said. “Hold on.” 

With his chest in agony, Methos kept Talmadge in his peripheral vision, and turned his full attention on the action in front of him. Rockler had paused in his attack, and MacLeod was back-pedaling, searching out safety from the assault. Another arrow embedded itself in Rockler’s chest and the man actually went down on one knee. MacLeod had reached the house, had his back to the wall. He was scanning around, trying to find the source of the attack.

Talmadge raised his arm, as if to fire, and Methos put his hand out to Talmadge, grasping at the man’s wrist and drawing off the imminent discharge. Talmadge twitched, his finger off the trigger as he glanced at Methos.

“No, wait,” Methos rasped out.

Another arrow embedded itself in Rockler’s side. The giant howled in pain, then heaved himself to his feet, and started to retreat back through the hedge he had knocked down. A third arrow found its mark. Finally, Rockler slowed, going down to his knees again. Another arrow, and Rockler was laid out on the ground.

Methos felt his vision narrowing. The arrow in his chest was doing damage every time he moved, every time he breathed. It was impossible to imagine how much damage Rockler had taken and still been able to move. MacLeod was pressed against the wall, but moving away from the area would open him up to attack. How much time had passed? A minute, two?

Time seemed agonizingly slow. Methos kept his grip on Talmadge’s wrist, though he could barely tell if it was still a hold or not. He was feeling oddly disassociated from his body, except for his chest, which shrieked with every little movement. 

Then a small figure appeared at the back of the property—where the person could have been hiding Methos couldn’t guess—at such an angle that MacLeod couldn’t have seen the person. Methos tried to call out, to warn MacLeod, but he didn’t have enough breath. Blood burbled at his lips, which alarmed Talmadge. Talmadge put a hand on Methos’s shoulder and said, “Don’t you give up on me.” The officer hadn’t yet seen the approaching figure. Methos tried to speak, tried to keep Talmadge’s attention centered on him for just a moment longer. 

The figure had a bow at hand, which was quickly strung, aimed, and released. MacLeod realized the danger too late and before he could move a foot, went down, with an arrow in his heart.

Talmadge shifted his weight, only then recognizing the way the situation had changed, and Methos realized the fool was going to try and shoot the archer. 

The archer moved with efficient deliberateness and, as the figure grew closer, finally Methos felt the dawning hum of Immortal presence. Now that she was close enough, Methos could see her more clearly. Small and slim, she was barely more than a wisp of a girl, but she moved with deadly purpose, and was obviously highly trained. Her skill at the bow was phenomenal.

She caught Methos’ eye and smiled as she passed him, flicking a meaningful look to Talmadge. Carefully she wended her way to stand near Rockler, who was still on the ground, trying to grapple with the arrows sticking out of him at all angles.

“No,” Methos whispered to Talmadge, catching his attention for one flickering moment. “She’s only here for Rockler.” But it was useless --the man was horrified by the carnage in front of him and determined to bring down the person he thought was the murderer. 

Ignoring the rasp and shriek of pain in his chest, Methos reached over for the gun, twisting Talmadge’s wrist in the process. The gun clattered and Methos snatched at it, pulling it in toward him, keeping it aimed at his own chest. He didn’t want Talmadge to fear being shot, he just didn’t want him to disrupt the archer’s next move. 

Talmadge cradled his wrist and Methos hoped he hadn’t broken it, or at least hadn’t broken it too badly. Talmadge stared hard at Methos. “You can survive this,” he said. “Give me the gun back, and I can help you,” he said. “I’ll call an ambulance. I’ll get you help.”

Methos searched for the archer out of the corner of his eye. This was all going to be over very shortly, and Talmadge was going to be in for the shock of his life. Not having much energy to do anything more than hold on to the gun, Methos sat and waited. 

The archer approached Rockler, and drew her sword. It was modestly short, befitting her stature, and she paused at Rockler’s feet. Rockler was moving feebly, finally brought low. 

“For my father and my teacher,” she said. “My name is Dove, and there can be only one.” She sliced down in one easy motion. 

A grey, amorphous mist rose from Rockler’s body, filling the sky. Then, things started exploding. Car headlights, things inside the house, random patches of grass. The sky fizzled with rage, raining down shards of electricity, slamming into Dove, driving her to her knees. She cried out with the pain, and a zip-line of fire slashed through the grass, spreading an arc in the direction of each Immortal within the area. Everything grew dark and a vicious wind swept across them all. 

At last, it faded away. 

Methos turned his head slightly to see Talmadge staring at the sight, his mouth wide open. 

Dove got to her feet slowly, dragging her sword with her. She stumbled toward MacLeod, growing stronger as she recovered. Finally she reached him, and gently nudge-kicked his body flat. Then she grasped hold of the embedded arrow by the shaft and gave a mighty pull. The arrow came loose with a wet wrenching noise, and Dove surveyed her handiwork, giving it a nod. 

Then she turned and vanished the way she had come. 

Methos waited until she had a good head start and then dropped Talmadge’s gun. His hand curled around the shaft of the arrow in his own chest. MacLeod would revive in a minute, and Methos was sure that he would come around to remove the arrows and allow everyone to recover. But for right now, Methos didn’t have any reserves of energy left in him. “See you later,” he said to Talmadge, who had recovered his firearm, and was now vainly trying to staunch the bleeding in Methos’ chest by applying pressure. 

Talmadge shook his head and grasped one of Methos’ hands with his own. “Don’t you close your eyes. Don’t you give up. Come on, fight!”

“Heh,” Methos said, and let himself slip away into the darkness.

~~~ 

“So you’ve got Talmadge going through orientation?” Methos asked. He was sitting at the bar with Joe, catching up with transpired events. At hand was a beer and a bowl of chili, excellent comfort food, and Methos was feeling wondrously ebullient that no giant Immortals were lurking around outside.

“Yep. Something about seeing five people revive from being shot dead convinced the man that Immortals were real. We had no problem bringing him on board.” Joe sipped at his own beer. “Not to mention the Quickening.”

“He’s lucky to be alive. If he’d interfered with Dove’s attack on Rockler, I have no doubt that she would have injured him at the very least to keep him contained.”

“First hand training in how cold-blooded you Immortals can be,” Joe said, half-serious and half-joking. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “But maybe she knew what she was doing. You said she killed Mac and the others, but left you alive.”

“Alive, but immobilized,” Methos agreed.

“So that you could keep Talmadge from interfering,” Joe said, his insight as keen as ever.

Given the smile that Dove had sent him as she walked over to Rockler, Methos was sure that Joe might be right. Which was just as well. If she’d harmed the mortal man, MacLeod would have had been hard pressed to let her go without meting out his own brand of justice. Methos crumpled a packet of crackers on top of his chili and stirred it in. “It all makes sense with hindsight, although I could have sworn that Dove was a boy student.”

“Maybe part of the reason no one could find her,” Joe said, chuckling. “A fortunate misdirection.”

Methos continued, “Rockler killed her father, Nolan. MacLeod said that he’d adopted her when she was young and had been training her nearly her whole life. Explaining why she’s a dead-eye with the compound bow.”

Joe gave a wince in sympathy.

“But it was a brilliant strategy,” he said admiringly. “With the barbed tips, no one was going to be able to pull the arrows out on their own, not even Rockler. He was enormous, strong, and quick. Good with a blade. But none of that matters when your insides are on fire. She’d probably been following Rockler since he’d killed her father, looking for her opportunity. Then when we’d become involved things just got more and more complicated. Eventually, she had to make her own opportunity.”

Methos leaned forward, thinking through the entire affair. He could see how Dove would have been frustrated to see other Immortals again and again engage with Rockler, keeping her from taking her revenge. Eventually, she must have made the decision to go forward with taking Rockler down, even if she had to deal with other Immortals on the scene. Rockler would have left the area at some point, having exhausted the teachers in Seacouver, and gone where Dove might not have been able to easily follow, and definitely where Dove wouldn’t have had as much familiarity as she did with the terrain, so she must have been keenly aware her opportunities were dwindling.

Somehow, she’d known about Mercy and Sienna, and knew they were a target for Rockler, and that she only had to wait for his appearance. Then it was just a matter of neutralizing a few more Immortals, and taking Rockler out. That she’d managed to pull it off spoke volumes about her training, skills, and personality. 

She was definitely an Immortal to keep an eye on, and given that enigmatic smile she’d cast on Methos while she’d walked brazenly in front of the mortal police officer that she hadn’t harmed even though he could have ruined the whole plan…well, Methos had to say that he was a little bit in love with her. 

“What’s going to happen to the other students?” Joe asked.

“Louisa is going to stay with Mercy,” Methos said and sipped his beer. “MacLeod is going to try and find teachers for John and Marty. I have no doubt he’ll find someone to take them on, he always does. Sam still has Anastasia. It’ll all settle out, one way or the other.

“I guess that about finishes the whole thing,” Joe said. “All I did was sit here and wring my hands, and now I’ve got a report to write. Paperwork, it’s always paperwork,” he lamented. 

Methos laughed and finished off his beer and the chili. Joe was almost right. The affair was finished, except for one more thing.

~~~

 

Methos let himself into the dojo with his key. All the lights were off, the room was lit only from the modest and indirect sunlight, and it was eerily quiet. He walked across the floor, eschewed the lift, and went to the back staircase. 

The stairwell was empty and silent, with just the slightest hint of the smell of coffee. 

Methos moved up the stairs and felt MacLeod’s signature as it rippled through his head and down his spine. Now MacLeod knew he was there, also. 

At the top of the stairs, Methos used his key again and let himself in. 

MacLeod was on the couch, reading something that looked entirely dull, and a mug of coffee, still steaming and fresh, was on the table in front of him. MacLeod looked up and smiled at him. 

Methos moved into the room, encouraged by the smile. MacLeod stood up, putting his book aside, and took the few strides across the room to meet Methos in the middle. 

“Duncan,” Methos said as they wrapped their arms around each other. 

“Methos,” MacLeod replied, his voice warm, slightly humorous, entirely endearing. 

“Are you done being stubborn?” Methos asked, eyes closed. He could smell MacLeod’s skin, the closeness of it. 

“Probably not for all time,” MacLeod said, “But for now, yes.” His hand was warm against the nape of Methos’ neck, and a comfortable weight resting there. “Are you done being recalcitrant?”

“Probably not for all time,” Methos replied, and then sighed. “Probably not even for the length of one day.”

“I’ll keep you just as you are,” MacLeod said. 

“I’m glad,” Methos said. “I suppose I won’t try to change you…much.” He pulled his head back just slightly so that he could see MacLeod’s face, and the look there was very much encouraging. “You have the worst timing, you know.”

“Or perhaps the best,” MacLeod said thoughtfully. “I thought I could endure without you close. I thought it would hurt less, be less worrisome, to have you out there, away from all the danger that seems to pervade my life.”

“And?”

“And it isn’t so. It would just make me worry more, if I weren’t near enough to involve myself in fighting the things that frighten us, the things that come after us.” MacLeod pulled back and studied Methos’ face. “Together is better than apart. Even if it is more dangerous overall.”

“At least you can get something through your thick skull!”

MacLeod laughed. “Sometimes I can be taught.”

Now it was Methos’ turn to chuckle. “Sam thought you wouldn’t take me on as a student because you desired me.” 

MacLeod brushed his thumb across Methos’ lips. “And all along the reason I kept my distance was because I loved you and wanted you away, and safe.”

Methos closed his eyes. It had been tortuous. MacLeod had decided on his hare-brained concept of protection in the weeks after his friends had been killed, that safety meant being separate. And he’d toed the line by pulling himself away from Methos. It hadn’t kept Rockler from tossing MacLeod’s well-meant intentions to the wind, and even though the giant Immortal had been the alpha and omega of the entire troubled time, Methos couldn’t help but thank him. At some point, MacLeod’s twisty sense of honor and bone-deep need to protect those he loved would have pushed Methos away—ostensibly for his own good, and no matter how it would have rent their hearts open. Rockler’s continued assault had pushed MacLeod right past that edge and over it, to the point where he couldn’t exist with the state of having a loved one too far away to help, or to hold. 

MacLeod brushed a finger down between Methos’ eyebrows and along his nose. “Whatever complicated thoughts you’re thinking--”

“I don’t--”

MacLeod hushed him with a finger to the lips. “You do. And whatever they are, set them aside to ponder another day.” MacLeod leaned in to finally begin a kiss—a kiss that had been postponed nearly three weeks by Methos’ reckoning. It went on and on, delicious and generous, and Methos was sure that his very heart was being schooled in the art of love.


End file.
